


Small Delights

by von_Hrym (indulging_inaccuracy)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Biting, Crimson Flower, Established Relationship, Heavy Petting, Marking, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Other, SPOILERS FOR RUMORS OF A REAPER AND BENEATH THE MASK, They/Them Pronouns for My Unit | Byleth, dmab nb Byleth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-23
Updated: 2019-10-23
Packaged: 2020-11-23 10:30:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20890649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indulging_inaccuracy/pseuds/von_Hrym
Summary: It always seemed to irk Jeritza when some of his smaller habits could be read so easily, and it was one of Byleth’s small delights to find a new one or confirm an old.





	Small Delights

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be fluff but one of my two remaining brain cells took me gently by the face and said “no”
> 
> Thank you V and Fife for editing!

Byleth had always been a light sleeper.

According to Jeralt, even as a small child Byleth had never been difficult to wake, constantly dozing off after long days in the saddle but alert within moments if they needed to move out at the sign of unpleasant company. Mercenary life left little room for privacy, so they had learned to sleep through things like a hearty conversation in the same room and the background din of camp-making. But the smallest noises, if they were sudden enough, could pierce through the walls of slumber and yank them into the waking world. 

That was how Byleth found themselves bolting upright in their chair at a short, sharp knock at the door. As they startled, their hand made contact with something small and hard, flinging it off the desk. 

Only as they reflexively shot that same hand out to catch it did they realize, _fuck_, it was the inkpot.

As luck would have it the jar was mostly empty and only a few residual blobs made it past the lip to splatter against the floor below. But a small stack of papers had flown off the desk in Byleth’s haste, and in the candlelight they could see some flutter delicately to rest on the spilled ink. “Oh, blazes,” they muttered to themselves, and to the door they called, “C’min, it’s open.”

They didn’t look up as the door creaked ajar. They were too focused on carefully lifting documents off the ink puddles so as to not stain them worse than they already were and shuffling the undamaged ones back onto the desk. There was no sound or movement from the entryway for several moments until finally a low, languid voice remarked, “Careless of you, to let just anyone in like that.”

Even as they stood, Byleth had to tilt their face slightly upward to make eye contact with Jeritza, unmasked and unarmored, as he slipped into the room. He closed the door softly behind him and watched with mild interest as Byleth straightened their writing supplies again. 

“Hm? Oh, I knew it was you,” replied Byleth absently.

“Did you?” Skepticism tinted Jeritza’s tone.

Byleth hummed a confirmation and seated themselves again. With one hand they picked up a quill, and hovered the other above the desk before rapping a short, familiar rhythm against the wood. _Tap tap, thunk._ They looked up in time to see the tail end of a frown sliding away from Jeritza’s features, and smiled at that. It always seemed to irk Jeritza when some of his more subtle habits could be read so easily, and it was one of Byleth’s small delights to find a new one or confirm an old.

“You have ink on your face,” retorted Jeritza.

“Do I? I’m not surprised,” Byleth replied, using their free hand to rub at the side they suspected had been resting against their paperwork before being snapped from their catnap. The sky through their windows was dark, but it had been that way when they started working earlier and told them little as to how long they had dozed. “What time is it?”

“Just past the the twenty-first h-- stop that, you’re making it worse.” One of Jeritza’s hands caught Byleth’s by the wrist and pulled it away from their face; he licked his opposite thumb and swiped it firmly across Byleth’s cheekbone. Color rose on their face, partly because the cosseting made them feel embarrassingly childish, but also because unrestrained gestures of intimacy from Jeritza still hadn’t lost their novelty, no matter how small. 

Byleth pressed their face forward against Jeritza’s fingers and pouted up at him, and got a scowl and a pinched nose for their troubles. “Ow. Terrible, terrible,” they chided, turning back to the paperwork in front of them. “You didn’t just come to make fun of me, did you?”

There was a scoff from the middle of the room, followed by the sound of a body roughly landing on the bed. “You invited me. After dinner.”

Memories clicked into place, and sheepishly Byleth recalled that, yes, they had done that, hadn’t they? “Oh, um… sorry. I fell asleep I think, and my brain is still catching up.” They looked at the paperwork on the desk and despaired softly; there were at least three reports about supply chains that needed looking over and initialing, and at least one document looked like an official correspondence that would require a written reply. 

“Sorry,” they apologized again, “I think I’ll be working a bit longer.” Byleth glanced over a shoulder to watch Jeritza’s response, as his tone could be so unreadable sometimes. To their surprise, they saw that he had at some point picked up Byleth’s mending basket and was rifling through the garments, pulling out some and setting them on the bed next to him. “Oh, don’t worry, I can do those later. None of it’s important.”

“I’ve seen you attempt sewing before,” replied Jeritza, setting aside a nightshirt that Byleth remembered ripping the cuff of last week. “It takes you forever to complete a finger’s length of straight stitching.”

_Ouch, fair,_ Byleth thought. They couldn’t resist firing back at that, though. “You mean you watched me?”

“Where is your thread?” he asked, not deflecting the jibe so much as dodging it outright. Byleth exhaled a small laugh, but as they turned back to the desk and reached down to the bottom drawer where the sewing supplies were, they felt Jeritza come up from behind and shadow over their body with his own. Warm breath ghosted against an eartip, and one of Jeritza’s hands covered Byleth’s to pull the drawer fully open. They risked a sidelong glance but Jeritza’s face was just out of Byleth’s periphery, and after selecting a few spools of thread he retreated to the bed again.

“Finish your paperwork,” he instructed, sounding downright mild for all the tension that had been buzzing between them a second ago. “I wager this basket will be done before your quill leaves the paper.”

“Wagers have rewards.” Byleth’s voice was also bland, hopefully without discernible effort. 

There was little if any pause at all between that and Jeritza’s reply. “Indeed.” 

That was the last thing of importance either of them said for quite some time. Byleth murmured to themselves occasionally to run through a calculation or check if a certain phrasing would sound right if read aloud by a messenger. Jeritza was almost completely silent as he worked, and occasionally the air was still enough to hear the pull of needle and thread through fabric, accompanied by the scratch of quill to parchment and punctuated at length by the snip of shears. 

This was the soundtrack of their work: two tasks done separately but not in solitude, harmonizing despite their different natures. The noises fell into a rhythm that eased Byleth onward, through words and numbers read and written, and before they knew it the candle at their desk had shortened considerably and the final letter was complete. Byleth checked each document to make sure they had missed nothing, added footnotes here and there, and finally glanced over their shoulder again to see how Jeritza was faring.

It was the first time they had observed him properly since dinner, and they wanted to take in every detail while they could. Jeritza wasn’t at the monastery much these days, orders usually taking him far west and away from Edelgard’s strike force. When he was present, he often went around masked and at least in light armor, whether out of habit or paranoia not even the Goddess could know. 

But at the moment he wore neither, sitting at the edge of the bed in just an unadorned black shirt and pants, his hair tied back from his face like it usually was save for the shorter pieces he left loose in front. Even in the dim candlelight from Byleth’s nightstand, something in his face had visibly changed from earlier. What exactly Byleth couldn’t pin down, but they knew it would drive them up the wall if they didn’t figure it out or forcefully set the thought aside.

Instead they focused on how Jeritza’s long fingers moved with delicate precision, pinching fabric and pulling needle and thread in a way that spoke of years’ practice. He was precise on the battlefield too, of course, but Jeritza with a weapon was power and accuracy in equal parts, might wielded with the efficiency and sheer intensity strong enough to make even a seasoned warrior balk. And privately… no, it would do them no good to let their mind wander like that, not just yet.

And as Byleth turned their attention back to Jeritza’s face, his brow relaxed and his eyes simultaneously focused and passive, it struck them: it wasn’t just the lack of armor, the absence of his mask. 

_I used to sew together with Emile and my mother._

Mercedes had once told them that while she cheerfully mended a seam Byleth had popped in practice. It wasn’t strictly a secret by now that the two of them were siblings, and that Jeritza von Hyrm hadn’t always been called such, but neither advertised the information and it had taken Byleth by surprise at first. But when one knew to look for it, there was so much of each in the other’s face, from their gently sloping eyes framed by thick, straight brows; their full lower lip and the way it creased when something frustrated them and softened when they were at peace. Mercedes had looked content and relaxed while she sewed, and unguarded. 

Jeritza, sewing quietly on Byleth’s bed, looked unguarded.

And then Byleth realized Jeritza was looking at them. True to his word, the mending basket was empty, and he held eye contact with Byleth as he folded the final piece. The softness was gone, his features back to a baseline of unreadable. “What?”

“Nothing,” Byleth replied hastily, making a show of shuffling the papers in front of them. “I finished earlier but I thought it would be, uh, polite to wait until you were done. You looked in the zone.”

“You mean you were watching me?”

That was on purpose; it had to have been. There wasn’t any mirth in that tone, but as Byleth rose from their seat and turned to face Jeritza in full, there may have been just the slightest curve at the corners of his lips. 

Byleth wanted to scrutinize that upward turn further, but more than that they longed to cover those lips with their own. “Yeah, I was. What did I win from the wager?”

Jeritza seemed to consider this, tilting his head to one side and gazing toward the ceiling. “It matters little to me,” he said at last. “You decide.”

“Oh? That’s bold,” replied Byleth, sauntering across the room to stand in front of Jeritza, who had moved the completed mending back into the basket and the basket to the floor. _Better now,_ Byleth thought, _than getting upended later._ They seated themselves sideways across Jeritza’s legs, twisting slightly towards him and letting a hand rest on either shoulder, and continued. “Reckless, even.”

Jeritza hooked his hands around Byleth’s waist, and pulled them closer so they were entirely on his lap. The way his long fingers could almost meet in a circle made them lightheaded and giddy, and they buried their face in Jeritza’s shoulder to ground themselves. He must have bathed before coming over, as his hair was slightly damp and the faint but distinct aroma of cloves and sandalwood lingered on his skin. It wasn’t the heady, irresistible smell of leather and sweat that clung to him after hours at the training yard, but the way it mixed with warm notes of clean cotton was enticing in its own way, something private that only Byleth had the pleasure of knowing. Byleth sucked it in greedily and exhaled through their mouth, slow and soft against the bit of exposed skin at the collar of Jeritza’s shirt. 

Those strong hands tightened their grip on Byleth’s waist, then eased off just as quickly. Jeritza moved one arm up to circle Byleth’s shoulders, and kept the other low to tug at their legs and pull them even closer. With how they were curled against his chest, it was a simple matter for them to be completely enveloped by Jeritza’s broad frame, and that in and of itself was a rush.

“Is ‘bold’ what you want?” The question was little more than a whisper, clipped and restrained, but close enough to Byleth’s ear that goosebumps rose on their skin and the hair at the back of their neck stood on end. Either Jeritza noticed or the lack an answer made him impatient, because he took the chance to nip lightly at the curve of that same ear.

Byleth suppressed the shudder that threatened to run through their body, only for it to escape through their voice as they breathed out, “Yes.”

A hum resounded in their ear, and faded out as Jeritza trailed his mouth down Byleth’s neck. They tilted their head back so he had better access, losing themselves in the sensation of that full lower lip pressing against their pulse. 

Without warning a single canine caught and dragged against skin. This time Byleth didn’t even bother hiding that traitorous shudder, instead letting their entire body flex with the movement. Jeritza’s reaction was unmissable: a sharp inhale and a slow, unsteady exhale as Byleth’s back and legs shifted beneath his hands. 

When he next spoke, his voice was low and intense, all that earlier restraint evaporated by desire. “And ‘reckless?’”

Before Byleth could answer, teeth sank into the crook of their neck. They hissed at the suddenness of it, then moaned breathless and desperate as Jeritza traced over the spot with the tip of his tongue. 

Their hands scrambled up Jeritza’s torso, up to his chin, cupping his jaw and pulling them face to face. Byleth meant to touch their foreheads together tenderly, but the movement was rushed and awkward and they collided with a soft thud. It mattered little; Byleth was beyond the point of self-consciousness.

“_Yes,_” Byleth gasped, “Absolutely yes.” 

They tugged Jeritza forward and surged into the kiss.

There was only a moment of chaste, closed-lipped contact before Jeritza opened his mouth onto theirs, his tongue playing along the edge of their lower lip as Byleth’s opened in kind. Boldness was what they had asked for, and they were delighted it was what they were getting. As the two of them kissed, Byleth felt for the ribbon holding Jeritza’s ponytail in place, undoing it and combing their fingers through his hair. Running their nails against Jeritza’s scalp always seemed to provoke him into taking things further, faster, and the way he growled into Byleth’s mouth made it seem like that would be the case again.

So when he broke the kiss off, Byleth let out a small whine of protest. Jeritza caught them by the chin with one hand as they leaned forward again. His face was flushed and his eyebrows were knit with concentration, and Byleth lamented internally how it wasn’t fair for him to look like that and not be kissing them back that second. 

They were about to voice those complaints when Jeritza leaned in, whispered a soft “shhh” against their lips, and dipped his head down to mouth against the base of Byleth’s neck. 

That hush was hopefully to silence complaints only, because silence in its entirety was not within Byleth’s ability just then. The places Jeritza had treated before with only teasing, brief kisses now had the full attention of his mouth on them, tongue and teeth and all. There was no chance that he wasn’t leaving marks--several of them, subtlety be damned. Byleth gasped and moaned and tangled their fingers further into Jeritza’s hair; with what little thought they could muster, they confirmed that “reckless” had absolutely been the right thing to suggest. 

Jeritza’s hands roamed while he worked: the one at Byleth’s chin slid back, his palm guiding their jaw to a better angle and the fingertips playing with the short, fine hairs at Byleth’s nape. The hand on their legs rubbed against them idly at first, then went further up Byleth’s side until it grasped their waist, pulling them in further still as he placed a particularly zealous bite. They arched their spine with the movement, throwing their head back and crying out on a high note that even they were impressed by.

“Neighbors?” Jeritza asked, pulling away and breathing hard next to Byleth’s ear. It was of some comfort and great pride to Byleth that he was about as affected by all this as they were.

Byleth shook their head. It usually saddened them that the old student dorms were mostly empty now, but at that moment they couldn’t be anything but grateful.

A rather impulsive idea struck them, and they decided to act on it rather than dwell on whether it was inspired or silly. While Jeritza caught his breath, they squirmed free of his grip and twisted on top of his legs. Though still seated on Jeritza’s lap, their legs now straddled his and their back was pressed against his chest. They reveled in his warmth for a moment, then leaned forward and tucked their chin down, baring the nape of their neck and hoping the move was as seductive as they had imagined it.

Everything was silent, but only for a second. Byleth hissed on an inhale as Jeritza lunged forward, catching their skin in his teeth and dragging his canines across it. They couldn’t tell if the sound against their neck was a groan or another growl; they were too distracted by the hand slipping up the front of their shirt, stroking along their torso and up the flat of their chest. 

Byleth panted out all the encouragements they could manage and groped blindly for Jeritza’s other hand. Finding it, they grabbed it by the wrist and guided it between their legs.

There was a knock at the door.

“Ignore it. Don’t stop.” Byleth whispered, reaching their free hand up to pull Jeritza’s face towards theirs and angling their chin to kiss him again.

And Jeritza seemed more than willing to oblige, pressing the heel of his palm roughly against Byleth’s pants before trailing his fingers up to work at the buttons. Dimly, Byleth wondered if Jeritza had only closed the door behind him earlier, without locking it. But if it _was_ unlocked and whoever was at the door deemed it appropriate to let themselves in, then so be it.

The knock came again, insistent but no more recognizable than the first time. Unfortunately, the voice that followed it was. “Professor? I can see candlelight under the door.”

Both of them pulled away at the same time, giving each other matching looks of grim resignation. It was Edelgard.

Byleth cleared their throat and called, “One moment, please,” then made an attempt at fixing up the front of their clothes. Jeritza busied himself with smoothing Byleth’s hair, then Byleth felt the familiar chill of healing magic brush against their neck.

“Don’t bother,” they said, absently batting Jertiza’s fingers away even though the sensation was undeniably pleasant. “Not enough time.” 

It was only sort of a lie; they knew better than to keep Edelgard waiting when she was there on business (which was almost always). But Jeritza had a particular efficiency with healing small, fresh wounds, and it really wouldn’t have taken that long for him to fade the bruises and marks to a more subtle hue. Byleth just thought it would be a waste to see them gone so soon. Instead, they pulled their collar a little higher on their neck and rose to answer the door, opening it just enough to stick their head and shoulders through the gap.

Edelgard was standing alone in the courtyard, thank the gods across all lands. Byleth didn’t know if they would have been able to handle Hubert’s judgemental stare at that particular moment. She was still in her day clothes, but had shed her headdress and swapped her armored cloak for a more comfortable tunic. 

“Good evening, Professor.” Though her smile and voice were placid, a hint of knowing mischief glinted in her eyes as she said, “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

“Nothing in particular,” Byleth replied evenly. They were well aware that their shirt did little to hide the fresh marks at their throat, but bland-faced blatant lies had become a familiar joke between the two. Inside the room, a sheaf of papers was pressed into Byleth’s hand and without missing a beat they brought it through the doorway and presented it to Edelgard. “Here to collect homework?”

“I didn’t expect these until tomorrow, but thank you.” She leafed through the documents and seemed satisfied with the work, but Byleth was still waiting for the other shoe to drop. “I was actually hoping to borrow your guest for a bit. Is Jeritza presentable?”

Ah, and there it was. The door swung fully open and Byleth had to quickly grip the frame to avoid swinging with it, but Jeritza caught their shoulders and helped steady them as he stepped over the threshold. “Depends on the occasion,” he stipulated, sounding just a bit put-off.

If Edelgard was smug about calling both of them on their bluff, she had the courtesy to hide it. “Hubert and I are going over correspondences with our forces in the Nuvelle region,” she explained. “You’ve been there more recently than either of us. It would be of great assistance to have your input in deciding what troops they need and what we can afford to allocate.” It was phrased like a request, but again was only done so as a courtesy. 

Jeritza sighed through his nose but gave her a simple “Understood,” all the same. To Byleth he instructed, “Don’t stay up; catch up on your sleep for once,” and surprised them by taking one of their hands in his and giving the fingers a gentle squeeze. It happened so quickly they scarcely thought to reciprocate, and by the time they did Jeritza was already retying his ponytail and several strides in the direction of the war room.

Then it was Edelgard’s turn to surprise Byleth by wrapping her arms around them in a tight, warm hug. “I’m sorry. I know you two don’t get much time together.” 

She had never been much for hugs and still wasn’t, so Byleth knew both the gesture and her words to be sincere. “It’s okay,” they assuaged, returning the embrace and patting her on the shoulder. “I know it’s important.”

“And I know you know.” A giggle passed through both of them, and Edelgard pulled away to flash a smile. “Thank you, regardless. I’ll try not to keep him too long.”

Byleth shrugged. “He might not be coming back tonight.”

“He only said not to wait,” Edelgard reminded. “Which could mean anything and nothing, I suppose. But I think I have enough of a read on him to assume it means _something._ Don’t you?” 

They bid each other good night after that, and Byleth watched her fade into the dark before retreating back into their room. It felt colder than it had before, and only in part because of the brisk night air let in during their conversation. 

It felt emptier.

The mending basket was still on the floor where it had been left earlier. On top of the neatly stacked clothing was the nightshirt Jeritza had inspected; it must have been the last piece he had been working on. Byleth examined the mended cuff with amusement: instead of using a more simple stitch, a delicate vine pattern had been worked into the repair. The well-matched thread had to be tilted and shifted in the candlelight to be seen properly, but it was clear that more time had been spent fixing that cuff than necessary. 

More time than it would have taken, likely, than to double-check paperwork for errors. Byleth smiled to themselves, and the room didn’t feel as empty as it had before.

The candle at the desk was nearly spent when Byleth went to extinguish it, but the one on the nightstand had been replaced more recently and still had a bit of life left. They stripped down to their undergarments and pulled the newly-mended shirt over their head, then grabbed a book they had been reading about historical diplomatic agreements with the southeastern lands. 

Drowsiness was overtaking them, but they figured staying on top of the covers and exposed to the chill might be enough to keep them awake. They thumbed to the chapter they last remembered, and immersed themselves in the 818 trade pacts with Morfis.

Much later, Byleth found themselves floating out of slumber and into a much darker room than they remembered being in a moment ago. The candle had gone out; the only illumination came from moonlight falling through the windows. They had been awoken by the door again, not a knock but the sound of it opening and closing softly as someone entered the room and promptly called them a fool.

“Why aren’t you under the covers? You’ll freeze,” scolded Jeritza, barely visible as a pale specter in the shadows. As if on cue Byleth violently shivered; both sleep and cold had taken a firmer hold on them this time, and their body was struggling to keep up even if their mind was alert.

“Was trying… to stay up,” Byleth mumbled, fatigue muddling their efforts. Strong, warm arms lifted them up off the bed, then settled them again so blankets and quilts on could be pulled over their body.

“I told you not to.”

Despite how gentle his voice sounded, Byleth knew it was supposed to be an andomishment. A shake of their head and an argumentative noise was all they could manage in response.

Jeritza clicked his tongue and sighed. Despite the dark, Byleth recognized the rustle of clothing just in time to catch one of Jeritza’s hands in theirs as he rose. “No.”

“No, what?”

“Stay,” they whispered. 

It was hard to tell in the scant moonlight, but Byleth though Jeritza’s features might have shifted. 

“Please?”

The air hung still and quiet for a moment. 

Jeritza slowly, gently, not unkindly pulled his hand from Byleth’s grasp, and they let disappointment settle in as exhaustion dragged their eyes shut. Oh well.

But instead of the door opening and closing once more, it was the rustle of cloth that returned, and a muffled _fwump_ of something soft hitting the floor. The bedframe creaked as Jeritza nudged Byleth to the side, and they wiggled further so the mattress could accommodate both of them. Once he was settled, Byleth rolled and nestled their face against his bare chest; the leg they hooked theirs around was clothed, but they could settle for that.

“G’night,” mumbled Byleth. They didn’t particularly care if it was lost against Jeritza’s skin.

“Sleep well,” came the reply from somewhere further up the bed. 

Byleth imagined that relaxed, unguarded look from earlier in the night and wondered if maybe, just maybe, it was the one Jeritza wore now. 

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell I like teeth


End file.
